Who

Hannah, Cha'el

What

Cha'el drops in to check on Hannah and winds up have a VERY awkward conversation.

When

It is late night of the fourth day of the eighth month of the first turn of the 12th pass.

Where

Southern Weyr, Ebon Askavi

OOC Date

 

hannah_default.jpg Chael3.png


Ebon Askavi

The weyr is forbidding, done in dark colors with heavy wooden furniture. Careful cleaning has left the wooden furniture gleaming, the living area is blocked off to the side by dark mahogany screens in lacquered panels depicting delicate scenes of color flowers and brightly plumed avians and felines hidden at the base, ready to pounce upon the unsuspecting wildlife. A round table sits off to the side, nearest to the small hearth that keeps the weyr warm. Behind the screens, heavy couches are arrayed in such a way that guests are made welcome, though not comfortable enough to remain for too long. The sleeping area can be glimpsed through the shallow dip that leads into Dhiammarath's area. The walls maintain the color of dark volcanic rock, striated in marbled grey. Overall, the living area is comfortable, but heavy and a touch foreboding.


A sevenday of bed rest sounds so much easier than it actually is. The night is clear and bright, and the chilly night's air of Southern's temperate winter winds through the weyr, tickling lantern and glow lights alike. Overhead, only Timor is visible to cast watery, white light down upon the glistening stones of Southern Weyr itself. Through the bowls and through the Courtyard, all is quiet; even into the dark and foreboding weyr that serves as a resting place for Hannah, all is (mostly) quiet. Tucked up on the couch, with bare feet elevated and a pale, ghost-white shawl thrown over her midsection that leaves thigh and calves exposed, lies Hannah. She's got a bowl of fruit perched on the swelling hill of her belly and in her hands is a book that can only be classified as a 'bodice ripper'. "… he focused on her mouth, remembering all too well how wonderfully soft her lips had been pressed to his. Damn he wanted to kiss her again…" The sing-song, saccharine tone Hannah carries is full of mocking as she pops a grape in her mouth and chews, quite judgmentally. "Such drivel." But it's easy to tell that whatever she's reading, has her enthralled. Uncomfortably so, given how she shifts her hips. Obviously wearing pajama top (and presumably bottom) in silky, shimmery moon-pale material with ribbon-thin straps that slips off one shoulder. Glittering in the lantern light is a golden necklace with a little dragon in flight, the sparkle of its eye-gem catching the light.

For twenty-four hours straight, Cha’el and Sikorth had held guard over the sands after that fateful night until eventually the human half of the pair had passed out with exhaustion. Granted special dispensation, Igen’s Weyrsecond had arranged it thereafter so as to be released from sweeps and in the South as soon as drills had ended each day following. Only now, have the brown pair resumed their routine of arriving in late afternoon and leaving the following morning. Thus it is that once the mottled brown was settled on the sands and had finished fussing Dhiammarath with attaining a full sitrep of their eggy brood, that his rider, worried about the tiny weyrwoman given her condition, has boldly taken to encroaching on her private space. Arriving in a quiet tread of booted steps he’s just in time to hear the line she reads aloud from her book. Amusement (and a measure of relief) curls about his mouth. “Aaaaah. The Maiden’s Folly.” The title of the book given with a crooked grin from where he lingers in the entrance, “The swordplay was rather well written.” And he would know that how!?

So into the story is Hannah that Cha'el's approach has the junior weyrwoman startled enough that she knocks the bowl of fruit balanced so precariously on the top of what might be her kid's head. "Oh!" Quick fingers has her grabbing the bowl and pushing herself up into a sitting position — scrambling the way people do when startled. "I haven't gotten to that part yet, but I wonder about the prose if that is the beginning of a flirty scene. I just can't imagine an actual male doing that." Not quite so prone now, the goldrider tucks her hair behind her ear and then blinks at Ch'ael. "Read romance novels in your spare time, do you brownrider?" The arched brow and humor that flows through husky voice is directed right at the Igenite. Dhiammarath welcomes the brown onto her sands, and letting him count each and every egg. Rumors are starting to fly that the eggs are hard enough that the actual day might just loom upon the horizon.

Unapologetic humor sits in those deep blue eyes when Hannah startles and the brownrider instinctively dashes forward to try and save the bowl of fruit, coming to an abrupt halt when she manages to save it. Up goes a brow, features set about a knowing line faintly teasing in its origin. “Just because we don’t write about it or moon with our mates about it, doesn’t mean we’re not bound to the same flights of fancy and romantic daydreams that you ladies are,” he goes on to reveal, taking a step back to afford the goldrider chance to rearrange herself. “It gets better,” Cha’el says of what’s coming up in the text, “though the author might have thought to use a description other than, ‘raging sword of desire’,” the air quotes evident in his baritone, adding, “I’ve yet to see a sword rage with anything but bloodlust.” Smirk. His expression changes thereafter, morphing to a small smile etched with a note of melancholy. “It was my mother’s favorite book. She had me read it to her in the days before…” A clearing of throat and the completion of sorrowful memory banished, focus set instead to Hannah in an assessing sweep of her softly rounded belly. “How are the pair of you doing?” Quietly asked.

"I am sure the author meant another kind of sword was raging with desire," Hannah's comment is dry, humorous and adds a lift of her brows and a suggestive mien cast upon her face. "I suppose," slowly drawled out while she gestures to Cha'el to take a seat, "I'll have to ask Th'seus if he has flights of fancy." That last statement is wickedly stated as the short weyrwoman struggles to push herself against the mound of pillows that lie tucked beneath her on the couch. Clearly been here for a while. "Ahhh, well it is truly fascinating and I do enjoy reading them, even if I think some of the sexy parts are rubbish." It's all said in good-nature, however, with a softer smile of understanding for the Igenite's comment of his mother. "If my mother would have let me, I would have gladly read to her, but…" She shrugs and skips over the troublesome topic of mothers and lifts the bowl to pat her growing belly. "Hungry. That is what we are. Hungry and fat and swollen and I can't seem to stop eating, but the healers say I'll be fine. Just with the stress, I needed to stay off my feet so here I am. I can't even go onto the sands." Another grape is savagely chewed. Eyes narrow. "And you? Are you okay? Between the girl and the greenrider…" She makes a tsk-tsk-tsk noise.

The grin that emerges in response to Hannah’s dry notation says it all with the woman only just saved from a teasing waggle of brows that would have been entirely inappropriate given that she belongs to another. A short snort is next to follow on the matter of her questioning her weyrmate on such things. “Good luck with that.” Hovering nearby as she struggles into a sitting position, unsure of whether to offer help or keep his hands to himself, Cha’el goes with the latter and sets the petite woman with a quick smile of understanding on the matter of mothers gone from their lives. It draws warm, almost fond next with the brownrider’s gaze lingering across rounded belly wisps of longing etched across bearded features before being hidden behind a chuckle. “You’re supposed to be…” fat? Erm. “Growing and eating for two.” He points out only barely recovering his nearly fatal faux pas. “And resting. Resting is good.” He really doesn’t know much else about what pregnant women should or shouldn’t be doing. “Not sure about reading those books though.” Because that might give her ideas and women in the family way shouldn’t be doing that, right? Right. Or so he assumes. But then focus is narrowed back his way and brows drop into a discomforted frown. “I’m fine. It’s just complicated.” Cha’el returns hoping to wave the matter aside though he does add a mumbled. “K’vv understands.”

"I'm sick of resting. I was fine… before…" Hannah glosses over the terror of nearly getting crushed to death by colliding dragons and then plummeting to the ground in a near fatal end that could have resulted in tragedy for all. Dhiammarath certainly has let none forget that those people — those people — nearly killed her beloved. "These books? They're tame, really." She taps the edge of the book's spine and gives the brownrider a wicked smile. "Not as good as real life." Which comes out softer, sweeter than she likely intended, but the narrowing of those sharp, emerald eyes should be a hint that he's not going to get off so easily. "K'vv — that's his name? Does he understand that this woman seems to think you're hers?" Oh, oh, but wait. Hold that thought. Because she's now, quite magnanimously, holding out her bowl of fruit. "I am doomed to be a short woman with a giant belly before this is over, so take one for the team, Cha'el." Which means: eat. The pregnancy is adding a mercurial air to the goldrider, thinning the polite veneer and showing hints of the feral creature beneath.

Reminder of the near fatal accident draws a tight line to the brownrider’s features, the event having unsettled the brownpair more than either are likely to acknowledge especially given that one of their own had been involved. “I’m glad that you’re both okay,” he tells her, sincerity cast in every line of his expression. “I’m going to drop by and look in on Tuli tomorrow. I just…” didn’t want to get in the way, but tonight seems to be one for incomplete sentences. A warm smile softens Cha’el’s expression for the tone of the comment Hannah goes on to make about love in the real world but he doesn’t get a chance to comment before she’s needling him about the current situation of his own affairs. Taking a step forward, lips pursed together, he dutifully plucks a bunch of grapes from the bowl and then flicks Hannah a startled look. Take one for the team?. Hadn’t he already done that a few months back at risk of having Th’seus remove his head from his shoulders? Ahem. Moving on. “K’vvan,” the greenrider’s full name given, “knows where Erissa fits into things. Trouble is, they can’t stand each other. And I’ve tried to get them to sort it out but…” there’s a shrug of broad shoulders. “She was good to me when I needed a friend. I’m not going to cast her to one side just because K’vv has an issue with her.”

A solemn, fearful expression furrows Hannah's brow as she dips her head and stares into the bowl of fruit, toying with a degloved sprig of grape stem. "I haven't been able to yet," she comments, frowning and quite possibly damning the need for bed rest still. His startle only provided a wider smile that shows more than a hint of tooth, although her actions are innocent enough. "Of course they can't stand each other," this is blithely stated as the woman digs around for the right grape. With a sigh, she sets the bowl aside and starts fishing around on the couch. Apparently, she ferrets goodies about her person because she comes up with a baggie of pregnant woman snacks. "They both want your affections. 'Casting aside' means you hold this woman as a partner? Lover? Either way, it bodes ill for anyone else who comes into your life." So frankly does Hannah regard Cha'el that the cheery words that follow are so at odds with her demeanor. "I would rip the throat out of any woman that tried to squirm her way between me and Th'seus." Those eye-teeth flash again. "And gladly rip the balls off any male that thought there'd be plundering of throbbing manhoods going on. Flights are one thing. Flights are different, but boyo, you need to get your head out of your behind and fix that hot mess." With a wince, she digs her hand under her hip and yanks out a long thing of beef jerky. "Oh. I was looking for that this afternoon."

Lips part with offer to be the crutch for Hannah to lean on should she wish to pay the ailing Tuli a visit and then snap shut with an audible click of teeth. A frown grows. A deep furrow of dark brows from under which sea-blue eyes latch intently on the tiny goldrider, frustration shadowing their depths and for a long moments, Cha’el is silent his hand danger of crushing the grapes in it, to sticky juice. “Former lover,” he says of Erissa, “without whom I may have done something seriously fucking stupid. But I don’t love her. Not like that.” So there are feelings of some sort. “When I left Ista, I thought I’d left that whole fucking mess behind and I wasn’t looking for anything when I got to Igen and then…” along came the prickly greenrider. A hefty sigh exhales, touched along the edges with a growl and without awaiting invitation to do so, the brownrider plonks his butt into the nearest chair, hopefully not squishing a Hannah Stash left there. “How?” He asks fitting the junior with an agitated look, “How the fuck am I supposed to fix it? I’ve told Erissa there can be nothing between us. She knows I’m with K’vvan and still she’s going around telling people that I gave her that ring. But despite that, I owe her. And as for K’vv…That kid’s been through more than most people would survive with some thread of sanity still left intact. He’s like this nervous little kitten that hisses and spits and scratches and claws one moment and then darts out of sight and hides the next.” There comes a shake of head. He’s drowning here.
Luckily, Cha'el's butt only finds a blanket in the chair. Hannah's spot on the couch looks to be very well used in the last sevenday or so, though luckily the couch is big and comfortable. Flopping back against the pillows, she listens to all of what Cha'el has to say while tossing the sweetstick aside and picking up the jerky. "Uh-huh, uh-huh, uh-huh…" This rapid fire agreement seems to come flippantly to what the brownrider states, though the narrow-eyed, searching emerald green eyes should give some clue that it's not going to be that easy. "And yet. Yet." Wiggling her hips again, she winces then takes a bite of jerky. "You sit here and say you're not going to cast her aside, which means that you're keeping her, somehow, connected to you. Girls," okay qualifier here, "some guys, I suppose, are terribly jealous creatures. Okay, not all of them, but most of them that end up in committed relationships will not want someone else wandering around tempting them." She pauses, expression darkening, "Especially if they can't have sex for a while and then there's someone there tempting them and making them want to rip their face off. Not that that's something you have to worry about, of course."

Lulled into a false sense of security by the quick staccato of sounds coming from Hannah, the brownrider relaxes a fraction assuming this to be one of those ‘Get it off your chest’ type conversations. But he should have known by the intensity of the green-eyed stare, the one that when he glances up has him feeling like Hannah is somehow capable of the same mental bond as a dragon and is able to see right into the heart of him that he so carefully keeps hidden away. Especially when she smacks him with that comment about sexual limitations and the temptations that abound. And so, he makes an assumption, jaw going slack and eyes widening with shock. “K’vv…told you that he and I…that he’s…that we don’t really…” Swallowing hard there’s an unusual deepening of color across tanned cheeks and Cha’el glances away, embarrassed only to dart another look at the wily goldrider. “Wait. He said he wants to rip Erissa’s face off? Because he thinks I might fuck her because he's having problems with…" STARE!!

Hannah's expression is comical: the widening of eyes, the slightly slack opening of her mouth that has the beef jerky drawing a slow slide across her bottom lip where her teeth are no longer ripping into it. From slack fingers it falls to land on the rounded swell of her belly that seems to grow in leaps and bounds now that she's nearing the final trimester. "What?" The question is startled, jerked out of the goldrider by sheer surprise alone. "Wait. Back the dragon up. Are you saying that you don't…?" This calls for something stronger than beef jerky! "In that drawer in that thing over there is a bottle of alcohol and on that sideboard over there are some yummy pastries," it's an order, kind of, but clear that Cha'el is meant to be fetcher in this circumstance. Lashes lower as eyes watch the man from the privacy afforded her, as if wondering she was the last time he had sex. Surely not! Because, hahaha, that would be awkward. It's not like Hannah's in a dry spell (yet). "I don't know 'K'vv'. Why would he tell me something so personal. I was only saying, hypothetically, if for some reason someone can't," emphasized with the exaggerated motioning to her belly for Cha'el to get the hint, "I think it would make someone," her, "want to rip some faces off if there was a perfectly eligible fuck-buddy wandering around just telling people that they were ripe for the picking." She pauses and just stares at Cha'el. "Seriously? You're like… celibate in this relationship?" Normally not so bold, but she's tired, bored, BORED, and pregnant, which isn't a kettle of joy here people. SEE THE ANKLES?

Cha'el is SO not backing anything up, dragon or otherwise. Grateful to be given a distracting task, he jerks up from his seating and stalks over to the indicated sideboard in humiliated silence. Pastries and alcohol are retrieved with the former given the wary eye. Alcohol is kept within his possession because pregnant woman shouldn't drink and the pastries practically shoved at Hannah, his stomach roiling at mere memory of the last one he'd eaten. Then she's making matters worse by denying having had any such conversation with K'vvan. "But you said that…" Oh dear Faranth, his mortification is now complete!! Savagely teeth pluck several grapes from the bunch in his hand. Stuffed hamster face can't talk!! Sloooow the chewing. Even slower the swallowing as the brownrider's attention skips from one place to another while studiously avoiding LOOKING at the goldrider, ears tipping red as his perceived failure to perform comes under a glaring spotlight. And then she plants that banger on him and the grape he'd just snipped off with his teeth is sucked backward in a sharp inhalation at the horrifyingly correct assumption she makes and lodges somewhere near the back of his throat. COUGH. COUGH. SPLUTTER. CAN'T BREATH!! The remainder of the bunch is dropped and Cha'el attempts to clap himself between the shoulder blades. Tears streaming the offending item finally shifts and is viciously chewed for its betrayal.

The alcohol was for him, the pastries for her. Hannah does sink her fingers into one plush pastry that oozes creamy filling, all the while regarding the brownrider from Igen. Narrowly. Intently. Sharply. "You…" Whatever she might have said is tossed out the window when Cha'el starts choking on the grape. Quicker than it seems possible, she's shoving aside her plate of pastries and pushing her bloated self off the couch and towards Cha'el with a grunt. The blanket she was using is half-dragged with her until she can kick it off. Not so big yet as to be totally ungainly, but she's definitely noticeably pregnant. Enough so that her pajamas don't quite fit and probably show more skin than they should. All of that is not really thought about as Hannah tries to murder him with a few strong whacks between his shoulder blades. "Faranth, Cha'el. It's not something to kill yourself over." WHACK WHACK. An extra one just in case, even though he's chewing that grape. When the Igenite is not about to die on her home turf (it would be bad considering Tuli and Elicheritath's injuries beyond the fact that Cha'el would be gone…) she steps back and gathers up her blanket. "Why on Pern would you stay celibate?" The realization that the flight was his last, ah, time has the goldrider eyeing him real hard.

Caught in that desperate moment of near death by grape – And how humiliating would THAT be!? – Cha’el is at first only grateful for the tiny hand that slams away at his back. Only once precious air wheezes its way back into this lungs and he’s swiped the back of the bottle bearing hand across his eyes, does he realize that Hannah is UP, wearing pajamas that don’t quite cover that burgeoned belly and giving him the long eye. Tight.Lipped.Silence! as he drops the bottle to the chair he’d vacated and makes an attempt to help drape the blanket about her shoulders. If she doesn’t avoid such help, he’ll firmly guide her back to the couch, even going so far as to plump pillows and arrange them in an inclination of soft support for her to lean again. “You don’t think I’d be all over that banging it six ways to next seven if I could?” Cha’el blurts, frustration of many kinds brimming over into a painful truth of admission as he punches at a poor pillow to get it Just So. “He drives me sharding nuts! But any time I go anywhere near him, he freaks the fuck out. I’ve tried everything I know how to short of tying him up and gagging him.” Arms throw wide and slap back to his sides in agitation as he steps aside so that Hannah can curl back up again. “But he’s had some pretty fucked up experiences as a kid and being a greenrider hasn’t bloody helped. And so…I’ve backed off.” More silence, more frowning and the bottle is retrieved and the lid popped. Taking several hefty slugs, a heavy sigh exhales. “Thing is, he’s more than just a lay…to me.” Low spoken admission given adding even quieter, “And he’s said he doesn’t care if I…But I don’t want to with anyone else. I want…him.”

Hannah is up! Hannah is free! Hannah … is not. The brownrider that puts her blanket back around her shoulders and plumps her pillows is currently getting a death stare from the goldrider who's dragging her feet back to the confinement couch. At least it has food, right? Right. Rather than lay down, she's being a rebel and half-sitting up to eat her pastries. "You love him," she declares, though without the previous incredulity regarding his sex life. With a sigh, she settles back onto the damn pillows and eyes the Igenite. She waves him back to his chair lest he get any ideas about hovering. She's got one meddlesome, hovering weyrmate and doesn't need another meddlesome male hovering! "I… don't think I've ever been in this particular situation," not that she's using the cream filled donut to hide her thoughts, the creamy white filling sliding out the end she's not currently biting. "But," voice is muffled around the food, "Have you talked to him? I mean, it sounds like something's going to give and well." Dot, dot, dot. "Start with stuff… not sex." This is awkward. Having a sex talk with a hot brownrider who you had flight-moment with without your weyrmate around and all the while the last sex the other guy had was with you. "A relationship isn't just emotional. It is physical."

Having tended to a strong willed woman before and having the distraction of having his dirty and somewhat embarrassing little secrets scattered about his feet like shreds of confetti, Cha’el ignores those disgruntled scowls coming from Hannah. Better to have a teeny goldrider irked with you than her 200 pound gorilla of a weyrmate who could literally take you apart at the seams. Once she’s settled, the brownrider reclaims his seating and perches on its edge, forearms dangling over knees with the bottle hanging from a hand between them. There’s a soft snort. “Me neither,” he’ll confess on finding himself in such a situation and lapses into silence, listening as she speaks with just the slosh of liquid in the bottle lifted to his lips to dot the air around him. “Aye, we’ve talked. And he was okay,” ‘ish, “that one time we…” ahem. “But he wants to do it without Nadeeth’s help.” The pause that develops is filled with all the awkward of discussing such things with the pregnant woman that as it turns out, is the last one he’s had sex with and that then barfed all over him to boot. “I’ve told him it doesn’t have to be, you know, the whole…” a weak hand gesture displays what he’s simply too embarrassed to say, “that there are other ways but…” Suddenly a warm smile appears and the label of the bottle is picked at. “At least now he’ll hold my hand now and sometimes, if he’s distracted, he’ll kiss me so…baby steps, aye?” Another slug of booze and then a nod, a silent affirmation of something he’s not yet admitted to himself let alone the man involved. “Aye, I reckon I love him.” Goofy the smile that now lingers.

Shoving all of her packages of food out of the way — the pastries are saved on the coffee table — Hannah does, in fact, curl up on the couch after stubbornly showing that she does NOT need to lie down. The end result is with her lying down and tucking the light covers over herself so that she's now buried from neck to ankles in her blanket. As she shifts, a wrapped snack falls out from the depths of the couch. The book is wedged somewhere between the cushions as well. The messy knot of her hair flops like a dead rat against the pillow when she does, in fact, lay her head down. "If you love him," because she is so NOT touching any more of Cha'el's sex life with a Dhiammarath-sized pole, "then he needs to learn to be more, ah, expressive if he loves you back." A yawn escapes. "Th'seus will be coming home soon." Non-sequitor that. OR a warning. It's unclear what way it should be taken. "Thank you for stopping by, Cha'el." She means it, given the slight smile. He is, if nothing else, entertaining! "You're pretty okay for an Igenite." Some possessive ownership that comes from being a goldrider in her own domain that sees all outsiders as outsiders and all Southerners as hers somehow. Not quite matronly, but close enough. It is filtered through Dhiammarath, to whom everyone is like a child. Her children. So in this case, a high compliment from Hannah.

If he loves you back…Long the look Cha’el passes to Hannah, and silent for instead of offering opinion on the matter he glances away and reaching out by rote to pick up the fallen snack, sets it with the bottle he’d been sucking down on, onto the coffee table with the pastries and stands. Warmth smoothes lines of frustration, personal matters buried back down to where they’d rudely made an appearance from. “I’m glad you’re both okay,” he returns, “bet it’s a girl,” he goes on to add, “a fighter, just like her mother.” A short laugh as he takes a step back, “And you’re okay for a Southerner.” A salute is given. “If there’s anything you or Th’seus need,” yes, he’ll include the man mountain in this one, “you need only give Sikorth a shout.” That said, the Igenite tracks back out the way he’d come pausing only once to cast an unreadable look back onto the tiny pregnant woman curled up under her blanket and then he’s gone.

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